An Ideal Truth
by ShimmeringCrimson
Summary: When Harry Potter arrives at Hogwarts at the age of eleven, he is thin, small, and unnaturally clever. Dark!Harry. Rated for extreme child abuse and some language.
1. Prologue: Zero

**Warnings: Child abuse, malnourishment, some language, etc. If you are not comfortable reading these themes, please exit this story.**

* * *

It was dark and cold in the cupboard, but that was fine with Harry – because of the dankness of it, Dudley didn't usually go out of his way to bother Harry when he was there unless he was particularly bored, and Aunt Petunia was too disgusted by the dustiness of the small space to approach it. In a sense, it was a sort of safe haven for the boy – although he knew nothing would stop Uncle Vernon from dragging him out if he felt the need to.

The small boy of six blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness he had been plunged into after being shoved in his cupboard. He had accidently stumbled and knocked over one of Aunt Petunia's vases, causing it to shatter across the kitchen floor. After being shrieked at while clumsily cleaning up the sharp shards of glass (which cut his hands more than a few times), he had been forced in his cupboard without food for an undetermined amount of time.

Grasping the pitiful blanket he had been granted from his relatives, he winced from the sharp stings from the unattended cuts on his hands. He had, of course, deserved the wounds – if he hadn't been so clumsy in the first place, the vase wouldn't have broken. His aunt was certainly correct in her actions of rebuke; after all, she was the adult, and he was just a burdensome freak. Harry was only thankful his uncle was still at work and not at the scene of his wrongdoing. It was without a doubt that the man would be harsher in his punishment than his aunt.

For as long as he could remember, Harry had always been a freak and always deserved any action he received from his guardians. When he was three years old, almost four, he had accidently hovered a toy car to his hands after he had been denied any toys, unlike Dudley who had a room that was reserved for them. His aunt had paled and his uncle turned an unhealthy shade of red, and then Uncle Vernon had dragged him out of the room and lashed him with a belt before locking him away without food for two days. Another incident had happened a little over a year later at the age of five, when he had made one of the flowers in Aunt Petunia's straighten and smooth out it's petals after it had been trampled by Dudley. Harry had been so frightened of his aunt's reaction to the ruined flower (which was one of her favorites and would most certainly be noticed immediately) that he had unintentionally willed the flower to fix itself.

Unfortunately, Dudley had witnessed this occurrence and told Aunt Petunia, who in turn reported it to Uncle Vernon. The punishment resulted in several welts across his back and three entire days without food.

As Harry got older, the punishments grew steadily worse and more painful. His back now held several scars from the force of one of the sharper belts and, from one memorable occasion, a knife. The longest amount of time he had been stuck in his cupboard had been three days, but he was sure this time he would only be locked in for two or three days at most. Compared to the crimes he had done his family in the past, this recent act of offense was not nearly as large.

Harry almost wished he would be made to stay in the cupboard for longer than that, despite the unfortunate hunger that came along with it. It was the safest place he had, even including school, which was where he got most of his meals (the primary school allowed free meals that consisted of a small square of bread and two servings of vegetables – Harry would usually hide the bread and eat as much of the vegetables as he could without his stomach starting to hurt). Although he had a more consistent source of food from the school, he had to deal with the ridicule of his peers and Dudley's gang of bullies.

Harry remembered his first day of school vaguely – the most prominent thing that had happened was how he learned his name was not Freak, like he had initially believed. The teacher had been going through the roll call and got to the name Harry Potter, and after the teacher had discovered the identity of the boy who had the name, he had gotten a scolding for disobedience – much to the amusement of the rest of the class.

After that incident, Harry had been forsaken by his classmates, further cut off thanks to Dudley's obvious animosity towards Harry. On the bright side, he had learned that he was at least good enough to have a proper name, which in his opinion made it a very good day for him.

For the rest of the year, Harry had been pushed around and the victim of harsh words from his cousin and his friends. After he had entered his second year of primary school, however, the gang had started to hit him and trip him. The other children had taken to ignoring him and avoiding him so as to not get on Dudley's bad side. If they weren't ignoring him, they were making fun of the large clothes he wore and the way he almost never spoke.

The teachers never noticed a thing, either. During recess (the most often time he would be bullied), the teachers who brought their classes out would sit and gossip and talk to each other, almost never paying attention to the children unless they started to wander away from the courtyard or were screaming bloody murder. Since Harry had been taught not to make noise when he was in pain (courtesy of his uncle), Harry's suffering was never brought to their attention.

Shivering, Harry curled up on his cot in an attempt to warm himself, wishing the stinging on his hands would stop. As he wrapped the thin blanket around him, the exhaustion from the day caught up to him, and he eventually fell asleep.

The next morning, the cuts on his hands were closed and almost gone; the only trace of them that remained were pinkish skin where the skin tissues were new.

.*.

"Harry, could you answer this question?" his third grade teacher asked. The man was probably in his late forties and it was a well known fact that he wore a wig, although no one had ever addressed this fact to his face.

Harry glanced at the multiplication problem on the board and then back down to his hands that were neatly folded on his desk. He did know the answer, but he also knew he would get in trouble with his uncle if he outshined Dudley in any way.

He shook his head quickly, refusing to let his eyes meet the teacher's. There were a few snickers from his classmates and he heard a whispered "I wonder how he even got into third grade! He's so stupid!" from one of them.

The teacher sighed, looking at Harry almost reproachfully. "Harry, this is starting to become a problem. You never participate in class and half the time your homework is completely wrong or not even finished. Do I need to get your aunt and uncle involved?"

There were more patches of laughter across the room, and Harry shoved his fear and anger down. If his aunt and uncle got called…well, it wouldn't be pretty for him. Once again, he shook his head, peeking at the teacher before returning his gaze back to his hands.

"Well, if it continues like this, I'll have to inform them. It's become clear to me that they're too easy-going on you to allow you to be so disregardful of your education. Either that, or you are being very uncooperative," the man continued. Harry felt the anger build up again. He raised his eyes to glare slightly at the teacher, although it went unnoticed by him as he kept talking.

"I'm sure that you're being too lazy with your work, now that I think about it. Your cousin Dudley is doing much better than you in class. You need to start putting more effort into your work, young man," he admonished. Harry began glaring at the teacher's stupid wig, wishing he would stop talking. The teacher knew nothing of what he went through with the Dursley's, though it wasn't like he'd ever try to find out. It was practically common knowledge among the students that Harry was bullied by his cousin and that the two Dursley parents allowed it, but the staff at the school had never gotten the hint.

Harry kept concentrating on the wig as the rest of the class began giggling and laughing at the lecture he was receiving. It wasn't fair! He wanted them to shut up!

As he felt his anger grow, he felt something twist in his gut, and suddenly –

The class grew quiet as they stared at the teacher in shock.

If Harry hadn't been so surprised, he would have been a bit proud of himself.

The rest of class went by without anyone mentioning that the teacher's wig had turned blue, and by the end of the day, the news had been spread across the grade level.

When Harry and Dudley got off the bus and went into the house, there was a tight ball of anxiety formed in his stomach. Aunt Petunia greeted Dudley warmly with kisses and hugs while she gave Harry a cold look and told him to start getting dinner ready.

Harry hurried to the task, quickly preparing the meatloaf the Dursley's were to have. He was only allowed to have leftovers, and half the time his aunt and uncle didn't even let him eat that for that night, as they thought he got plenty of food at school.

Dudley rushed up to his room the moment he escaped his mother's hug, and for the next hour Harry slowly began to relax. Maybe Dudley wouldn't mention what had happened during class. Maybe he wouldn't get punished for his freakishness. Harry continued to reassure himself, but the pit in his stomach didn't diminish.

When Uncle Vernon got home and the family all sat down for dinner, Harry served them and made sure not to make eye contact with any of them. It appeared as if Uncle Vernon was in a good mood, as he didn't acknowledge Harry at all.

Aunt Petunia asked Uncle Vernon how his day was, and he began to ramble about how he had struck a deal with another company that would help finance his drill company. Harry began to robotically wash the pots and pans he had used to cook the meal, and after he was done, he stood in the corner without looking at the table full of food. It was a normal occurrence that happened routinely.

"And how was your day at school, Dudley?" Uncle Vernon asked. Harry stiffened.

"Mr. Eiwel told the whole class I was better than the freak," Dudley said proudly, shooting a condescending look towards Harry. Harry didn't bother looking up from his feet, face emotionless. "_And_ he said that he was lazy and not smart!"

Aunt Petunia started chattering on about how _of course_ Dudley was so much smarter than the freak and Uncle Vernon beamed and clapped his son on the shoulder, sending a nasty glare towards the small boy in the corner. "I'd expect nothing else from my Dudley!" he said, grinning proudly at the chubby boy.

"Something super weird happened after that though," Dudley continued, basking in the praise the two parents were giving their son. "The teacher's hair turned blue and he didn't even notice!"

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze, and Harry felt dread at what was going to happen next. His uncle whirled around, face already turning an ugly red. "BOY! HOW DARE YOU USE THAT – THAT _FREAKISHNESS_! AROUND MY DUDLEY NO LESS!"

Aunt Petunia was already moving Dudley up to his room, telling the pig-like boy that she would play his newest video game with him and that Daddy was busy handling the freak right now, while Harry was shaking his head rapidly and trying to look for a way to escape.

Uncle Vernon lurched forward, grabbing the boy by the arm harshly. He squeezed it so tightly that in would undoubtedly turn black and blue later on. "P-please, I-I didn't mean to, I promise, I-I won't do it again!" Harry desperately tried to wrench his arm away, but he was gripped so securely that there was no way to escape from the hold his uncle had.

"I've had enough of you, you dirty freak! First it was with Dudley's toys and then it was that damned flower and now you've gone and cursed Dudley's teacher! We've fed you, clothed you, and given you a home, and this is how you repay us?! How _DARE _you!"

Harry's fear increased tenfold when Uncle Vernon got out a kitchen knife, and he started begging even more frantically. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, please s-stop! I-I won't, I won't do it anymore!"

Ignoring the petite boy's pleas, the bulky man shoved his baggy shirt over his head so it dropped to the floor. He jolted the boy down so he was forced on his stomach, making him glance back fearfully at his uncle.

The man gripped the knife, hold so tight his knuckles began to turn white. "You deserve every bit of this, freak," he growled, and then brought the knife down.

Harry screamed, pain immediately washing over his body as the knife etched as line down his shoulder blade. Uncle Vernon instantly slammed his head down on the tile floor, causing him to see spots and become disorientated. "Not a sound, boy!" Vernon barked, cutting the knife into his skin again.

It took all his willpower to not scream again, a pained whimper making it out instead. He concentrated on his fingernails digging into his hands, trying to tune out the rest of the world. The knife dug into his back over and over again, and Harry's breath came out harsh and ragged through his bloody, torn lips from where he bit them. He felt his consciousness begin to fade in and out and he knew he wouldn't last much longer under this sort of pressure.

Finally, blissfully, the suffering came to a halt. Harry's eyes were clenched shut and he felt his uncle hastily bandage the wound on his back. If the situation hadn't been so painful he would have laughed at the irony. At the same time, he almost hoped that his uncle was tending to him out of guilt – but the logical, cold-hard fact side of him told him that the only reason he bothered was so he didn't die and attract the neighbors' attention.

The last thing he remembered before the world faded to pitch black was his uncle heaving him into the cupboard under the stairs and locking him in with a click.

.*.

Harry was eight now and in his fourth year of school. At the moment, however, he was huddled in his cupboard and wondering why he had such bad luck.

Six days ago, Dudley and his gang had been chasing him around the courtyard and he had suddenly found himself on the school rooftop. He had no idea how to get down, but he had figured it was better than getting beaten up again.

Half an hour after he had ended up on the roof, the teacher had found him when he didn't return to class after recess had ended. She had yelled at him for disregarding school rules and putting himself in such a dangerous position. Harry wanted to point out that Dudley seemed to be a much more dangerous threat to him than the roof but refrained from speaking his thoughts.

She had, of course, called his relatives and told them what had happened and they had immediately recognized the fact that Harry had done something freaky after getting Dudley's recount of the incident.

Uncle Vernon had been absolutely furious – even more so than when he had turned Mr. Eiwel's wig blue. Harry had had to punish himself, and then Uncle Vernon had deemed the lengthy scars he had given himself too lenient.

A few months ago, Uncle Vernon began making him hurt himself as punishment, and if he thought the injuries he got were too mild, he took it upon himself to do the job correctly himself. This time, his uncle had beaten him with a belt until his back and bottom were red and bleeding, no doubt leaving welts and bruises behind.

Harry was grateful that Uncle Vernon had not used a knife like he had back in third grade – after that particular punishment, he had found a mirror to check the severity of the wounds, only to find the word "freak" carved across his back in all capital letters. It was by far the worst disciplinary action he had received, and he hoped to keep it that way.

Because of his self-inflicted punishments, Harry now had quite a few ugly scars trailing his arms. One of them curved around his arm while another was jagged and spiky-looking. Most were just straight lines.

His back held far more marks – it was riddled with belt scars and twisted white lines from the few times Uncle Vernon had used a knife. Mostly, though, Harry was covered in bruises from the brute force of his uncle at home and his cousin at school.

Harry squeezed his legs closer to his body in an attempt to accumulate some warmth. This was the longest he had ever been stuck in his cupboard and the only times he was allowed out was a quick bathroom break every two days in the middle of the night. Harry had long ago learned how to keep it in for a long amount of time. He also got a fourth of a cup of water every day, although the Dursleys waited until he was asleep to put the plastic cup inside his so-called room.

His back was sore and burned and his arms ached and stung from the treatment he had received earlier in the week. He was certain that his back had gotten so many blows that it was raw from the treatment. He idly wondered at how he had never gotten infected from the numerous wounds he suffered on a daily basis before dismissing the thought and concentrating on his warmth.

Then all of a sudden he heard the locks of the cupboard door click open and his aunt was abruptly pulling him out from his cot.

She glowered at him for a few moments before telling him in a stiff manner, "You've had enough time to be lazy in there, boy, and Vernon and I have had to do your chores this week! We've decided to add quite a few more chores on to your list. Maybe it will actually teach you some discipline for once!"

Harry nodded hastily, hoping that if he were more agreeable he might be able to get something to eat before he had to start on the no-doubt dreadful list of tasks he would have to do.

"Er… Aunt Petunia?" he asked hesitantly. She looked at him with a scowl. "Could I maybe…um…eat something first?" Seeing the disapproval and denial that was about to come out of her mouth, he quickly said, "Since I'll probably be able to do my work better? I…well, I haven't had anything to eat in a while so I might pass out while I'm working." He made sure to keep his tone respectful as he stared down at his shoes. His aunt paused for a moment before frowning and allowing him to make a sandwich for himself.

After so long without food in his stomach, he felt a bit queasy from the sudden food and he carefully made sure to only eat half of it so he would have more for later. Still, despite the ache in his stomach he got from it, the sandwich made him feel somewhat better.

He quickly hid the rest of the sandwich in his cupboard after Aunt Petunia gave him his list of chores he was to do. It was early spring and most of the work for the day consisted of outdoor work. The first thing he started to do was work on the flower garden, pulling weeds and cutting thorns off roses. The thistles from the plants often cut his bare hands, but compared to the dull pain on his back, it barely stung.

As he worked, he noticed something long and skinny out of the corner of his eye slither through the marigolds. He froze, turning his head slightly only to see a green snake nearing him. Although he had seen snakes before in his lifetime, this was the first time he had ever seen one up close.

The snake seemed to notice him, because it hissed and rose itself up defensively.

Then the oddest thing that had ever happened occurred (which was saying a lot, what with the strange things that ensued around him).

The snake started talking.

::Leave, man-child! Why do you not run? Can you not see my fangs?::

Harry stared open mouthed at the reptile, before saying, ::You can talk?!::

The snake froze in its place. ::You…can understand me?:: the snake replied incredulously. Then, in a more amazed tone, ::Why, you're a serpent-speaker!::

::A…serpent-speaker?:: Harry blinked in confusion. ::That's impossible!::

::And yet, here you are, speaking to a serpent,:: the snake said in amusement. ::I have never encountered a serpent-speaker before. I thought they were merely fairy tales. It is a great honor to speak to you, serpent-speaker.::

Harry watched the snake lower its head in respect with shock. ::T-thanks?::

The snake hissed with delight, clearly enjoying the boy's stunned look. ::You may call me Cytherea, young serpent-speaker.::

Harry hesitated. ::I'm Harry.::

Cytherea seemed to almost beam. ::It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry.::

.*.

Harry was nine, bordering on ten, and it had been a little over a year since he had met Cytherea. The snake turned out to be his first ever friend, and Harry was so happy that he completely ignored the fact that his first and only friend was not even human.

Although Harry called her a friend, he knew Cytherea thought of him in a more distantly affectionate way, almost like one would treat the hamster they got for Christmas but didn't really want. She treated him with a sort of fond detachment that demanded her to be reminded of him in a 'has-it-been-fed-today?' kind of way, again with the hamster mentality. Harry decidedly ignored this fact about his snake friend when he discovered its existence.

Cytherea took pleasure in telling him stories while he worked outside, and it was extremely welcome since it distracted him from the sweltering sun or chilly winds of each season. After their first conversation, Cytherea had taken to come and talk to Harry more often, and it was quickly discovered that Harry was not speaking English at all, which was a shock to him because he couldn't even tell. His companion merely found it funny.

While Harry's punishments had steadily increased and gotten worse over the past year, he was still happier than he was had ever been in his life. Despite Cytherea's more indifferent attitude, she was a comforting presence and had even managed to distract the pain from one of his more damaging sessions with his uncle that had occurred after his hair had continuously grown back despite Aunt Petunia's best efforts of cutting it off.

Today, Harry was mowing the lawn while Cytherea lounged lazily under a particularly warm spot on the cement. She had been making teasing remarks about him missing spots of grass that needed to be mowed, causing Harry to send her a mock reproachful look.

::Your birthday is coming up soon, is it not?:: the snake questioned as the boy reached down to turn the lawn mower off, pulling his arm over his forehead to wipe the sweat off. ::What do you want?::

Harry paused, looking at her with wide eyes. ::Want?:: he repeated, vaguely stunned.

The garden snake opened one eye to look at him before closing it again. ::Yes, want. Are you deaf, little human? I am asking you want you want for the anniversary of your birth.::

Harry continued to stare at her in shocked silence. Then, he said, ::I-I don't know. I've never gotten a present before.::

Cytherea hissed in displeasure, anger causing her body to coil. ::Of course you haven't, it is only to be expected from the wretched _roaches_ you live with!::

She continued her rant while Harry felt his eyes tear up a little before blinking his eyes in an effort to keep the tears from spilling. He was practically spilling sunshine from his smile. ::It's fine, Cytherea,:: he said, interrupting her tirade. ::You don't have to get me anything. I'm just happy you thought of me.::

The snake paused. ::Nonsense,:: she scoffed. ::What kind of respectable snake would I be if I did not get my human anything?::

Harry had been so overcome with joy that he swept through his chores while humming cheerfully. He chatted to the idle serpent while he worked, the harsh summer heat barely noticed by him.

All too soon, Aunt Petunia was sliding open the door to screech for him to come inside to get started on dinner. Before she closed the door, however, she paused, a look of panic coming over her face as she spotted –

Cytherea.

Quick as a flash, the woman was shrieking and waving around a frying pan, and before Harry could do anything, she had struck his friend with a loud _clang_.

The young boy watched in horror as Cytherea stopped moving, body limp. He felt himself tremble, tears threatening to spill over his cheeks, before containing himself and looking away from the dead snake.

"Well?" Aunt Petunia scowled. "Go throw that disgusting thing away! After that, go wash your hands and cook dinner!" The horse-faced woman turned sharply away, no doubt on her way to go complain to her husband about the infestation of the reptile.

Harry quivered, forcing himself to move as he gently moved Cytherea. Very carefully he dug a small hole behind one of the bushes in the yard, placing her in it and swiping the dirt over her body.

When he came inside and began preparing dinner, his eyes were cold and his face blank.

.*.

Harry was ten minutes away from being eleven, and he was spending his birthday in a cabin in the middle of nowhere _without_ his letter. When he had seen the letter addressed to _him_, he was curious and almost excited. Then his idiotic cousin had seen it and his so-called _family_ had taken it away.

At the time this had happened, he was still recovering from the payback he had received from his uncle after he had set the snake at the zoo on Dudley. Harry honestly thought the new scars and lack of food were well worth the vicious glee he had felt at seeing Dudley's terrified face. It made him feel _powerful _to be able to get back at his cousin in such a harsh way.

Ever since Cytherea had been killed, he had formed a new attitude towards the bullies who hurt him. When Sawyer Dunt had tripped him and stolen his bag, the boy had found himself covered in large, hairy spiders in the middle of the night. When Gabe Watner had pinned Harry to the wall and given him a few bruises, Gabe had tripped down the stairs after school and had been sent to the hospital for two months. When Polly Greene had sneered at him and dumped his meager lunch on his lap, she had been found the next day in the school food freezer room by a screaming lunch lady, unconscious and suffering from hypothermia. The list grew and grew and yet the only thing any of the children had in common was the fact that they had all, in some way, harmed Harry Potter.

Of course, at this age children were all rather dense and although rumors about Harry had begun to spread, some of his tormentors had kept bullying him. Harry was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment he could hurt them in the most effective way.

Even though Harry had established a sort of fear over some of his classmates, he hadn't dared to try any of his powers in the Dursley household. His uncle wasn't a ten-year-old kid, he was a large thirty-seven-year-old brutish man with too much physical strength for Harry to be able to do anything to him. Well, at the moment at least. Harry definitely wasn't going to let his "family" get away with what they had done to him, but right now he was too young to do anything to them.

Glancing at the clock, he found that there was less than a minute left before his birthday. He glanced at Dudley with an amused sneer, wondering if he should start his birthday off with some entertainment – after all, the cabin was poorly built and there was a harsh storm outside; he could hardly be blamed if the roof above Dudley's bed broke and gave him a concussion.

_Ten, nine, eight…_

Harry held his breath, huddling in his blanket as the clock ticked.

_Seven, six, five…_

He shivered as the rain pounded down on the cabin.

_Four, three, two…_

He was still seriously considering bringing the roof down on Dudley.

_One._

The door slammed open with a thundering _boom_.

_Zero._

* * *

_Thanks so much to everyone who has read this story! It is my first time writing a Harry Potter fanfiction (well, the first time it hasn't been a crossover), and writing the first chapter has been a long ride of doubt and editing. It's been a long time since I've updated or published a new story as well, so my writing may be a bit rusty! (Apologies to my other followers who have been waiting for me to update my other stories; I am a sad and pathetic human being who will one day get back into my other fandoms.) I really hope to see what everyone thinks of it! (: If you have any suggestions or questions, I'll be happy to hear them! I'd also really appreciate a review if you have the time! Thanks again for reading!_


	2. One: On The Way To Hogwarts

**Warnings: Mentions of malnourishment, overworking a child, inability to eat a lot of food, etc.**

* * *

After watching his relatives get terrorized and receiving his first-ever birthday cake (which he didn't really eat; he only had a bit of icing as he found the sweet flavor overwhelming and a bit painful for his stomach), Harry had been taken away by the gigantic man who claimed that he was a groundskeeper of a magic school. And now, after having a good night's sleep, he was off to get his wizarding supplies. It was all a bit surreal, really. Not to mention the fact that he was apparently famous, along with the fact that his parents hadn't been killed in a car crash, but had rather been murdered by some Dark Lord that only he'd survived.

Their first stop had been to the bank, called Gringotts, which was incidentally run by goblins. Harry had found that as long as you were polite to the ugly-looking creatures, they did not sneer at you as much as they would to another, more arrogant, wizard.

"A pleasure," Harry murmured when the goblin introduced himself as Griphook. The creature gave him an odd look before his mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile.

"And to you as well, Mr. Potter," Griphook replied.

Harry thoroughly enjoyed the cart ride down to the vaults, although Hagrid didn't seem to have taken to it as much as Harry had.

After he had gotten his money from his vault (and what a surprise that was! An entire vault full of gold, all for him! The Dursleys certainly wouldn't be finding out about that if he had anything to say about it), and Hagrid had gotten some little package from a high-security vault (which Harry found more than a bit suspicious), Harry had gone to get fitted for robes at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions after buying his school books.

"Hogwarts, dear?" asked a kind-looking witch. "Got the lot here - another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

As he was ushered to stand on a footstool, he observed the pale blond boy next to him. Rich, definitely - the robes he was getting seemed of a quality that was overboard for school clothing. He also held himself in a way that clearly stated that he thought he was better than everyone else. He was vaguely intrigued to see that the boy was looking at him with a slightly calculating look, hidden behind a mask of curious disinterest.

"Hello," said the aristocratic-looking boy at last. "Hogwarts, too?"

Harry stared for a moment before nodding slightly.

"My father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street looking at wands," he drawled. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got a broom?"

Harry shook his head silently. The other boy seemed undeterred. "Play Quidditch at all?"

Again, Harry shook his head."Well, I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"…No," Harry replied at last, having every intention of learning what these 'Houses' were as soon as he got to the bookstore.

"Well, of course no one really knows what house they'll be Sorted in until they get there, but my whole family's been in Slytherin, so there's no doubt I'll be going there as well. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't believe I would, but I suppose I'd be quite disappointed," he said carefully, using what little he knew about the other to produce a reasonable response.

The boy looked at him with consideration. "Well, I don't suppose I'd leave, but I wouldn't want to be surrounded by all that muggleborn filth. Where are your parents, by the way?"

The green-eyed boy studied him blankly before offering, "Dead."

"Oh, sorry," the blond said, not really sounding all that sorry. "But they were _our_ kind, weren't they?" Harry stared inquisitively and the blond amended, "A witch and a wizard?"

He inclined his head slightly. "What's your name, then?" the other asked. "I'm Draco Malfoy, of course. It's a pleasure to meet you," he tacked on the end in an attempt to seem polite.

"Harry Potter," he answered, ignoring the look of flabbergasted shock on the other boy's – Draco's – face as the woman attending to him cheerfully told him she was done. He quickly paid and left the shop before Draco could get in another word, meeting up with Hagrid outside the shop.

"Just yer wand an' books left – oh yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present," Hagrid exclaimed. Harry gave him an odd look.

"…Present?" he questioned.

"O' course," Hagrid said, blinking in surprise. "Tell yeh what, I'll get yer an owl. Dead useful, owls. Carry yer mail."

Needless to say, twenty minutes later Harry was walking out of Eeylops Owl Emporium clutching the handle of a cage that contained a snowy white owl with a slightly baffled look on his face. He thanked the enormous man politely, feeling unsure of how to react with something as foreign as a present.

Afterwards they went to Flourish and Blotts, and it was by far Harry's favorite store. They spent a whole two hours in there, and Harry was certain that the employees there would start to see him come by far more often. He had seen a section that looked interesting called the "Dark Arts," but Hagrid had firmly steered him away from the area.

"Yeh shouldn' be lookin' at that kind o' stuff, Harry," he tried to explain (quite futilely, in Harry's opinion). "The Dark Arts are evil."

Harry very much doubted they were evil - after all, there wouldn't exactly be any books that size if they were all evil, despite how few there were. Harry resolved to take a look at them at a later date when he didn't have an adult hovering over his shoulder.

By the time they left the shop, he was carrying a stack of books that weren't on his list at all, one being "Hogwarts: A History" by Bathilda Bagshot, which was a bit dry for his taste but nevertheless an excellent source of information.

The next, and last, thing on their agenda was to get a wand. Harry entered Ollivanders with a feeling of foreboding.

After the old man had ranted on about how he "had been expecting him" and some information on his parents' wands (which was honestly a bit creepy and Harry probably wouldn't mind if he never had to see this man ever again in his lifetime), they finally got to trying out the wands.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"

Just as Harry was about to lift his arm, the wand was snatched out of his hand and replaced with another.

"That won't do at all – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy –"

And on it went. Harry was quickly becoming irritated at the elder man, and quite ready to bash his head through a wall.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." As Harry took the wands, a feeling of warmth spread through his body and green and silver sparks began twisting lazily in the air – almost in a way that a snake would do. "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

Harry was not up for mind games right now. "Sorry?" he said, lifting an eyebrow at Ollivander. "_What's_ curious, exactly?"

Ollivander turned to him sharply. "Mr. Potter, I remember every wand I've ever sold, and it just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

…Ahh, there was the foreboding comment he had been expecting – he had just thought it was because of the extreme creepiness Ollivander managed to secrete.

As Harry exited the store, he heard Ollivander say behind him, "I'm sure we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter – after all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

.*.

The last month of spending time at the Dursley's was spent doing back-breaking chores that left him with a painful sunburn (that he managed to hide after finding a concealing spell in one of his new books – he planned on getting a book on healing spells next time he visited Diagon Alley) and welted hands. Uncle Vernon hadn't dared to harm him physically after what had happened with Hagrid, but that didn't mean he wasn't still put in the cupboard if he did something even remotely suspicious, despite the fact that he had been given a room shortly after the first letter had arrived. To Harry's immense displeasure, his relatives locked his school supplies - including his new books - in the cupboard. What they didn't know, however, was that in the middle of the night Harry would pick the lock and steal a few of the books to keep himself entertained when he wasn't doing any chores.

Now, after an entire month of impatience, Harry stood at the train station, Hedwig securely buckled to his luggage. He glanced down at his ticket in mild irritation.

Honestly, did the teachers think he would somehow telepathically know how to get on the platform?

After about ten minutes of watching the area between the ninth and tenth platform, he noticed a group of redheads lumbering through the train station. Normally this wouldn't catch his interest but they had something he did as well - an owl. Scowling slightly before slipping a shy smile on his face, he tugged lightly on the woman's clothing when he caught up to her.

"Excuse me, miss?" he said politely, looking bashfully down at his shoes. "I'm new at Hogwarts – my first year, you know – and I don't really know how to, well…" He made a vague gesture while pasting an embarrassed look across his features.

The woman blinked before smiling warmly. "Of course! It's Ron's first time as well; you can go in after him. I'd suggest a bit of a running start." She motioned the smallest of the boys in the group forward and Harry watched in slight fascination as he disappeared through the brick wall.

"Thank you so much, ma'am!" Harry smiled brilliantly, and then copied what Ron had done before him.

As he went through, he glanced behind him to see a man with cool eyes staring at him, and beside him was the boy he had met when he had gotten fitted for his robes. Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, and then the station faded away as he came to a stop in front of a scarlet train.

Ten minutes later found him settling into an empty compartment and Hedwig nestled in her cage next to him.

Harry barely glanced up when he heard the door slide open.

"Er, all the other compartments are full….D'you mind if I sit in here?" the redheaded boy he had followed earlier asked. If he recalled correctly, the boy's name was Ron.

"It's fine," Harry said. Ron shuffled his feet awkwardly before sitting across from Harry.

After a few failed attempts at starting a conversation (to which Harry had pointedly ignored), Ron sat staring out of the window in tense silence.

The compartment door opened again not long after Ron had entered, and Harry managed not to heave an irritated sigh.

"Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one," a girl with bushy hair said in a rather bossy tone.

"No, we haven't," said Harry, barely containing his annoyance.

"Oh, well, that's alright. No one seems to have. My name's Hermione Granger, by the way," the newly named Hermione said. She looked at them expectantly.

"Ron Weasley," Ron managed, looking a bit dazed at the fast-paced sentences Hermione had produced.

When they both turned to him, Harry gave an inaudible sigh. "Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" Hermione gushed while Ron exclaimed, "Why didn't you _say_ anything?!"

"I've read all about you, of course," she continued. "You're famous!"

"I can't believe I've been sharing a compartment with Harry Potter," Ron said in awe.

Harry looked longingly at his Potions book. "Yes, well, it has been a _pleasure_," said Harry. "But, you see, I sort of wanted to read a bit more to make sure I know everything when we get to Hogwarts."

"Oooh, what book are you reading?" asked Hermione. Ron had backed down the moment he had heard the word 'book.'

"'A Guide to Potion-Making, Book Three,'" Harry read off in a monotonous voice.

"That wasn't on our book list," Hermione said, puzzled.

"I picked it up out of curiosity. It's a bit too far ahead for me to understand, of course, but it's good to know what we'll be doing in a few years." The last part was a complete lie – the book was ridiculously easy to understand – but they didn't need to know that.

"I feel the same way!" exclaimed Hermione, beaming at Harry. "It's always good to be prepared for the future, don't you think?"

A few minutes later found Hermione rushing out of the compartment, having completely forgetting her initial quest of finding Neville's toad.

Unfortunately, the (blessed, blessed) peace didn't last very long, because the boy from the clothing store earlier that month came in – Draco – along with two other boys who seemed to tower over the other children.

"Harry Potter," said Draco, a speculative look in his eyes. "It is good to see you again." He turned to Ron, taking in his worn robes and red hair with disdain. "No need to ask who you are. Red hair, second-hand clothes, and too many children to keep up with – you're a Weasley."

As Ron opened his mouth to angrily retort, Harry easily brought out his wand and casted a quick _Silencio._ When both of the boys realized they could not speak, Harry calmly said, "It wouldn't do to fight before we even get to school, now would it? Perhaps you and your…companions should sit, Draco Malfoy."

After they had all settled down, Harry released the spell. "I have no intention of getting in the middle of a fight," Harry said dryly. "If you wish to stay in this room, you will speak politely or not at all."

"Very well," said Draco, looking stuck between sulking and impressed that Harry was already able to cast a silencing charm. Ron mumbled an inaudible affirmative response.

"I would like to be your friend," said Draco bluntly when Harry had turned to him. Ron seemed to have barely managed to make a rude comment. Harry, on the other hand, stiffened slightly before forcing himself to relax.

The last friend he had made…_Cytherea…_

After a moment of consideration, Harry shook the hand Draco had extended. "Well, then…I look forward to getting to know you better, Draco."

Ron silently fumed for the rest of the train ride and sent betrayed looks at Harry.

Draco looked extremely smug.

.*.

Harry stared at the vast decorations around him in the Great Hall. Hundreds of glowing candles floated near the ceiling, lighting up the room. He was lined up with the other first years, and had quickly grown curious as to how the hat was supposed to Sort you. Perhaps it used Legilimency? But how would an inanimate object be able to do that? Or maybe it had a personality spell on it? He watched as McGonagall pulled out a list of names.

"Abbott, Hannah!" A few seconds passed after the hat landed on the girl's head, and then -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Applause resounded throughout the Great Hall, and the girl hastily gave the hat back and rushed to her new House.

The Sorting took quite a bit of time, and few of the students caught Harry's interest. He watched in vague amusement as Draco was immediately Sorted to Slytherin and observed the pleased look on his face, remembering a month ago when he had mentioned that he had wanted to go to that particular House.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called, and instantly the rest of the students began whispering excitedly to each other.

Harry walked up to the stool, and the last thing he saw before the hat dropped over his eyes were hundreds of students staring at him eagerly.

_"My, my, what have we here?"_ a voice whispered in his ear. _"What an unexpectedly harsh life you've had, Mr. Potter. Now, where shall I Sort you? You've got plenty of courage, I see, but I doubt Gryffindor would be able to handle your ability to hold grudges, what with the way Gryffindors always manage to blurt out the first thing they think of. Hufflepuff is out as well – despite the kindness you seem to have buried in you. Ravenclaw would certainly do you well, of course, with your brains, but you have an exceedingly large of cunning in you, not to mention your ambitious nature. Yes, you ought to go to _SLYTHERIN!"

The last word echoed across the Hall, and for the first time since the Sorting had started that night, there was absolute silence. Harry schooled his features into cool indifference, ignoring the ball of anxiety twisted in his stomach. Then, he heard clapping. He glanced over at the Slytherin table to find Draco clapping, and shortly after the rest of the table followed his lead – although some of them were clearly a bit reluctant.

Harry quickly gave the Hat back to McGonagall and joined the Slytherins, taking his place next to Draco. Only after he sat did he realize that he had missed his chance to ask the hat how it worked. He was disappointed, but he figured he could always look it up later of ask a teacher.

Harry looked up at the teachers' table and instantly zeroed in on a man with dark eyes and dressed all in black staring at him with a mixture of horror, shock, and surprise. He leaned toward Draco, murmuring, "Who is the man next to Quirrel?" He remembered the stuttering man clearly from his trip to Diagon Alley and his lip curved downward as he recalled the pathetic man.

"Oh, that's Professor Snape," said Draco airily. "He's our Head of House, so he'll probably have a speech for us when we go to the common room. He's my godfather as well."

"Is that so?" said Harry curiously, eyeing the teacher warily.

The rest of the feast seemed to go by in a flash after "Zabini, Blaise" was Sorted to Slytherin.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" asked Draco, frowning at the small amount of food on Harry's plate.

Harry felt a rare moment of unease. "I'm not very hungry," he said. "I ate a bit too many sweets on the train before you arrived." A lie. Harry had a very low tolerance for sweets – they made his stomach hurt and his mouth feel sticky and thick. He much preferred to stay away from them as much as possible, magical or otherwise.

"If you're sure." Draco still looked unconvinced.

After the feast, the Slytherin Prefects herded them to the common room.

"Our password this week will be _New Blood_. The password will be changed bimonthly and will be posted on the announcement board in the common room," said one of the Prefects, leading the first years into the room where Snape was waiting. The man gazed coldly at them before speaking.

"For the next seven years, you will represent this House. I am Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin, and I am your surrogate father while you are here. If you have any questions regarding anything, you are welcome to come ask me or one of the Prefects. During your stay, you will notice that when you answer questions correctly or do something right, you will earn points for Slytherin. However, if you do something wrong," he paused, curling his lip a bit when his eyes rested on Harry. "then you will lose points and possibly earn detentions."

Harry had a feeling that he and Professor Snape would not be getting along very swimmingly.

"Are there any questions?" Snape asked after explaining a bit more of what would be happening at Hogwarts. When no one said anything, he continued, "Very well, then you should be heading to bed. Curfew for first years is at nine thirty and breakfast will begin at seven and end at nine. I will be handing out your timetables tomorrow at eight forty-five. Do not be late."

With that, the first years were escorted to their dorm room, which they would be sharing with each other until their fifth year, when they would be only have to share with one other person. Harry didn't really understand the point of changing their dorm mates halfway through their time at Hogwarts, but at the same time he really didn't care enough to find out.

As the other boys changed into their night clothes, Harry looked on uneasily before grabbing his own nightwear and pulling himself into his bed and yanking the curtains around the bed so they completely covered him.

When he was changed, he folded his school robes carefully and put them into his trunk, standing up straight to see Draco staring at him oddly.

"Why'd you change in there? You haven't got anything we don't, Harry," Draco joked lightly, although his tone was rather suspicious.

Harry froze a moment before coming up with a response. "Oh, I'm a bit self-conscious," said Harry breezily, fluttering his eyelashes a bit. "But if you _really _want to see me naked, Draco, you only have to ask," he cooed, smiling sweetly.

Draco flushed a bit before laughing as the tension lifted up. "As if. You just aren't my type, Potter." The rest of the time before curfew was spent with Draco and Harry talking comfortably while the rest of their dorm mates spoke with the each other – apparently, they all knew each other through their pureblood ties.

When the prefects called for lights out, Harry slipped into the cool sheets of his new bed, drawing the curtains around him and tucking himself in.

As he fell asleep, he thought idly of how this bed was far more comfy than the worn mattress in his new room at the Dursleys', or the thin one that offered no warmth in his cupboard.

* * *

_Thanks so much for everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed! It feels so great to know that you are supporting my story. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter - I'm sorry it's a bit shorter than the last one, but I promise the next one will be longer. If there are any mistakes, please point them out to me - some of my knowledge is a bit rusty and I'm not the perfect editor. It would really mean a lot if you would review! Thank you! (:_


	3. Two: Beginning

**Warnings: Inability to eat much food, malnourishment, etc.**

* * *

Harry woke up like clockwork at five o'clock sharp. For a moment he was disorientated and confused why his muscles weren't stiff from being cramped in his small and uncomfortable bed at the Dursley's – and then he realized, he wasn't in his cupboard at all; he was at Hogwarts in a nice, warm bed.

He groggily swung his legs over the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, his school robes tucked under his arm so he can change after he showered. The shower was a public one, which meant he would have to continue to wash off in the early hours of the morning if wanted to keep avoiding awkward and embarrassing situations concerning his body.

By the time his roommates were beginning to stir, it was seven thirty and Harry was clean and dressed in his new clothes. At the moment he was skimming through some of his textbooks in an attempt to cram some last minute information in his head before classes started in a few hours.

"How're you ready so _early?_"Draco mumbled from the bed next to him, his face still squished in his pillow. Truthfully, it sounded more like, "Owreeweddieso_erlly?_" but Harry was able to unscramble the muffled words easily.

"It's a habit," Harry answered vaguely. He idly noticed Draco and Blaise Zabini pausing in their waking up rituals to give him looks that were a mix between disgruntled and incredulous.

He ended up going down to breakfast with the rest of the first years thirty minutes later. He hesitantly peeled an orange as Draco chattered on next to him about classes.

"—and Professor Snape's class is bound to be the best one, of course – he favors Slytherins so we're definitely going to earn points in his class," Draco was saying as the blond stabbed his eggs with his fork.

"He didn't seem to like me very much," said Harry, thinking back to the night before when Snape had either been ignoring him or glaring at him during dinner and the welcoming speech.

"You're just being paranoid." Harry wasn't too convinced, but Draco seemed to be completely uninterested in his plight. "How could he not like someone he has never even met before?"

It wasn't as if that hadn't happened before. Knowing his luck, it was entirely possible that the Dursleys had sent his teachers warnings on how awful he was just to make his life harder.

"Well, I'm personally looking forward to Transfiguration," stated Pansy Parkinson from across the table. "Of course, the teacher is McGonagall, so we'll have to be careful not to mess up in front of her."

"Why is that?" asked Harry.

"She's the Head of Gryffindor. There's no way she's not biased," Pansy said. The girl primly finished off her pancakes before glancing over at Harry's own plate. "Is that the only thing you're going to eat?" she asked disapprovingly, indicating the half an orange still on his plate.

The black-haired boy shrugged. "Too nervous," he offered as an explanation.

Pansy looked unconvinced and seemed to be on the verge of informing him of the importance of eating balanced meals, but before she could start, Snape swooshed over to the Slytherin table and announced that he was going to pass out their timetables.

When Snape stopped at Harry, he received a scowl before his schedule was shoved at him and Snape glided on to the next student. Harry followed him with his eyes, already knowing that Snape was going to be a problem for him this year. Harry would be sure to straighten him out by the end of the school year. If Snape continued to act so glaringly rude and biased even after Harry proved to be an adequate student, then Harry would have to teach him basic manners in any form he saw fit.

"Looks like you got your wish, Pansy," said Draco, pulling Harry from his thoughts. The Slytherin was looking over his schedule. "We've got Transfiguration first thing on Mondays and Tuesdays."

"And double Potions on Friday," Harry sighed. Honestly, it was bad enough Harry would have to put up with the unsavory attitude for one period, let alone two.

"Cheer up," Draco said. Then he blanched slightly. "Ugh. Never mind. We have Potions with the Gryffindorks. It's bound to be a disaster in the making."

Pansy made a sound of agreement, crinkling up her nose.

"Oh?" Harry murmured, glancing over at the bright red and gold table. "What _is _so bad about the Gryffindors, anyway?"

"What _isn't _bad about them?" Draco squawked, looking horrified that Harry even had to ask, at the same time Daphne stated, "Gryffindors and Slytherins have had a rivalry since the founders themselves. It's practically tradition for us to hate each other."

"I see," Harry said thoughtfully, outright ignoring Draco. Draco huffed angrily and moodily glared at his plate.

Harry was aware that Salazar Slytherin had left Hogwarts due to a fight between himself and Godric Gryffindor, but he hadn't realized that the feud had lasted so many centuries. If the animosity was as strong as his Housemates hinted it was, then he wouldn't be surprised if there were serious fights every now and then.

Judging by the redheaded twins he had seen mischievously grinning last night when Dumbledore had sternly told the students that the Forbidden Forest was _forbidden_, there would no doubt be pranks exchanged more often than not throughout the year.

Of course, Harry knew more than enough when it came to revenge – whether it be pranks or injuries. It would be easy to overcome anything that came his way.

Regarding the Forbidden Forest…well, Dumbledore should have probably been looking over at the Slytherin table instead of the Gryffindors, because the moment he had uttered the word "forbidden," Harry had made it his do or die trying mission to explore the place.

Harry had never been one for rules, after all.

.*.

The first year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs now entered their first class of the day – Transfiguration. Harry stared curiously at the cat gazing sternly at the children filing in.

"What awful luck," a sandy-haired Hufflepuff complained as the students settled in to the classroom. "Having our first class with the slimy snakes! Ugh!" He scrunched up his nose haughtily, scowling at the green-clad students.

Draco sneered from next to Harry. "I could say the same about you useless leftovers."

"Five points from Hufflepuff and Slytherin," a strict voice said before the angry Hufflepuff opened his mouth. "Insulting your classmates the moment you enter the room! Honestly, I expected better from my students."

A gray-haired woman now stood in the place the cat had been. Spectacles adorned her face and seemed to enhance the disapproving look she directed to the two boys.

A light dust of pink crossed Draco's cheek and the other boy turned bright red. With one last look, the teacher turned toward the rest of the class.

"My name is Professor McGonagall. Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts." She paused to peer down at them. "Anyone messing around will leave this class and not return. You have been warned."

Harry immediately formed a liking to this teacher, despite the points lost. It was obvious that she would not, in this class at least, be playing favorite Houses.

For the rest of the class period they learned to turn a match into a needle. Much to the Slytherins' amusement, the boy who had previously badmouthed them – Ernie Macmillan – not only failed at transforming his match, but also managed to make it catch on fire.

"See, they really are useless," Draco muttered under his breath, smirking as the Slytherins in ear shot snickered. Harry paused, glancing at his friend in brief surprise, before ignoring the statement and turning back to his match.

Inhaling slightly, the boy uttered the incantation confidently and smoothly directed his magic into his wand. After constantly using his powers to get back at bullies since Cytherea died, Harry had managed to gain considerable control over his flow of magic. The match steadily sharpened and turned a gleaming silver, catching the attention of their professor.

"Well done, Mr. Potter!" she exclaimed, holding up the match. "Now, class, look at this! This is exactly how your needle should turn out. It seems you have inherited your father's talent at Transfiguration, Mr. Potter." She smiled warmly and Harry stilled in surprise at the mention of his father. "Ten points to Slytherin for an impressive first successful try."

Several Slytherins grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up at the regained points he earned. Draco poked him in the shoulder and whined for him to help him with his match. With a slight smile of amusement, the green-eyed boy helped direct his friend with his own work.

By the end of the class, only Harry and Blaise Zabini had managed to successfully produce their needles, although Draco and a Hufflepuff named Hannah Abbott had transfigured half the match before their concentration broke. Professor McGonagall had assured the slightly downtrodden students that it was to be expected that they didn't immediately master the spell, although Harry caught her glancing at him approvingly.

Needless to say, Draco spent the rest of the walk to their next class sulking, and only brightened up when Harry promised to spend extra time with him to perfect Draco's needle.

As the rest of the week went by, it was painfully obvious that Harry was far more advanced than his peers when it came to magic. The teachers were all completely smitten with him and he had obtained a few congratulations on the amount of points he had gained in his first week alone from some of the older Slytherins.

"You're impossible," Theodore Nott said, staring at Harry's feather as it lazily dipped through the air. Professor Flitwick was practically singing praises at the quickly dominated charm. "There's no humanly possible way that you have gotten every spell down that easily." He scowled at his own fluffy feather, poking it with his wand sullenly.

"Perhaps he's not human," Blaise suggested, grinning.

"Hear, hear," Draco agreed. "Tell us, Harry, what evil, conniving, cheating creature are you?" he teased. "We all want to know."

"Well," Harry lowered his to a near whisper. "The truth is…I'm actually Merlin's reincarnation."

The other boys burst into laughter as Harry smirked. "Even that's pushing it a bit, mate," Theo snorted, still recovering from his bout of laughter. "Now, if you can get Snape gushing over you like Flitwick is, then maybe I'll believe you."

Harry balked at the mental image of Snape praising him excitedly with stars in his eyes and the others once again dissolved into giggles. It was no secret that Snape loathed the young Potter and Harry had yet to discover why. Harry had taken to staying in his dorm room whenever he saw the dark-eyed professor in the common room. Unfortunately, it seemed his week of avoidance was to come to an end since he would have to face Professor Snape tomorrow in Double Potions.

.*.

The next morning had Harry reluctantly sitting in the front row with Draco. The aristocratic blond boy had had to be woken up by Harry when he had accidentally slept in and after a rushed breakfast (in which Harry had nibbled distractedly on the edge of a piece of toast), the two had hurried to Potions. By the time they had gotten to the dungeons where the class was held, most of the seats were taken, and on the Slytherin side the only remaining place to sit were the front seats. Blaise and Theo gave him sympathetic looks as he trudged to the front of the room.

Harry shivered slightly from the cold air that engulfed the room entirely. _Then again,_ he mused, _it must get pretty warm when all the potions are brewing. _

He glanced over at the Gryffindor side of the room and noticed how the two Houses had immediately separated and created an imaginary boundary between them the moment they had entered the room. It seemed as if the legendary rivalry had already twined itself into the first years' minds. He stopped his search when he saw Ron Weasley peek at him uncertainly and give a hesitant smile. Harry studied him momentarily before giving him a curt nod in acknowledgement.

As Harry turned his attention back to the front of the room, the Potions' professor entered and stalked up the aisles. Immediately all conversation died down as the man glared and started going down the attendance list.

Like some of the other teachers, he paused at Harry's name. "Harry Potter," he said coldly, looking as if he wanted to insult Harry but not wanting to bring a member of his House down in front of the Gryffindors.

Harry gave a clipped, "Here," and was finally ignored as Snape finished through the names.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he said softly, dark eyes trailing over them. Harry was vaguely reminded of Professor McGonagall and the seriousness she held when it came to her subject. "There will be no foolish wand-waving in this classroom, so you might as well put them away before you idiotically stab someone's eye out. In this class, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

There was a deep silence as the students took the speech in. Hermione Granger, Harry noted, looked particularly desperate to prove that she wasn't a dunderhead.

Suddenly, Snape turned to him. "Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry blanked, mentally scrambling to get an answer. After a moment of silence, he answered, "Draught of the Living Dead, sir." Harry thanked every deity he knew that he had taken the time to study his textbooks thoroughly. One look at Draco told him that his companion had no clue as to what the answer was. Granger, on the other hand, had been waving her arm in the air excitedly before dropping it in disappointment when Harry had given the right answer.

Looking back at Snape, he saw a flicker of surprise flash through his eyes before his expression was contained again. "Correct. Tell me, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry almost sighed in relief; he had read about this in one of the healing books he had bought on his trip to Diagon Alley. "The stomach of a goat, sir."

Snape gave him an appraising look before nodding sharply. "Ten points to Slytherin for being prepared."

"Finnigan!" he snapped. The poor boy almost tumbled out of his seat in surprise. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Finnigan looked around the room helplessly before muttering, "I don't know."

Harry wasn't sure whether Snape looked smug or displeased. Most likely a mixture of the two.

"Weasley, what potion gives off the smell of your favorite scents?" he asked, turning to the red-haired boy.

"Er…" Ron looked terrified. There was silence as the boy fidgeted in his seat nervously as the professor glared at him and the rest of his House.

"For your information, monkshood and wolfsbane have no difference – they are the same plant, and are also called aconite. Amortentia is a love potion that gives off scents that differ from person to person, depending on their likes and dislikes." He scowled at the shrinking Gryffindors. "Ten points from Gryffindor for not bothering to open a book before coming. Well? Why aren't you writing this down?" The students scrambled to bring out their quills and copy down his words.

On some level, Harry felt as if he should intercede with the blatant bullying he was imposing on the other first years. However, he knew that there were far harsher words in the world, and Snape's were at least making sure they came prepared in the future.

For the rest of class, they brewed a simple potion that cured boils. Harry easily crushed the snake fangs and scooped the horned slugs into the cauldron, smirking when Draco stared at the ingredients in disgust. Every now and then Harry would look up and see Snape staring at him thoughtfully, brow furrowed, before the man went to check on the class' progress.

It seemed as if luck was not in the Gryffindors' favor that day because only a short thirty minutes later, Neville Longbottom was drenched in a spoiled, melted potion with angry red boils littering his body. The boy collapsed on the ground, moaning in pain.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, waving his wand in one fluid motion, effectively cleaning up the mess. "You added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire, I suppose?" Scowling, he diverted his attention to Finnigan. "Take him to the hospital wing," he spat. Finnigan rushed to comply, gingerly helping Longbottom up and supporting the boy as he limped out of the room.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped, glaring at the rest of the class. "Get back to work!"

.*.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Theo commented the moment they exited the room. "You even earned points! He can't hate you all that much."

"Hmm," Harry said, frowning in thought. Something was bothering him, something the Potions' Master had said earlier…

Still distracted, he barely noticed it when they entered the Great Hall and sat down at the Slytherin table.

"Hey, you okay?" Draco asked in concerned, bringing Harry out of his mind.

"Fine," he answered. He put a small amount of assorted fruit on his plate, not noticing the frown Draco gave him. He poked a grape around his plate idly before popping it into his mouth.

"Are you excited for flying lessons?" Blaise asked, pausing to bite into his steak.

"Well, of course," Draco said instantly, his attention caught. "It's such a shame first years aren't allowed to bring their own brooms. I've heard the school brooms are utter rubbish."

"Does it matter what broom it is?" Harry frowned.

The three boys stared at him with open mouths and wide eyes. "Does it matter, he asks," Theo said disbelievingly. "Of course it matters!"

"Haven't you ever flown before?" Blaise asked.

Harry shook his head, mouth curving downwards. "No, I grew up with my muggle relatives," he said distastefully.

"With muggles?!" Blaise exclaimed, outraged. Draco and Theo seemed to be in the same state. "You're kidding!"

"I wish I was kidding," he said dryly, finishing off his plate of fruit. He picked at his sleeves, straightening them so they looked neater.

"That's unacceptable!" Draco said vehemently. "I'll owl my father and ask if you can stay over for the holidays. Harry Potter, living with _muggles_ – what a joke!"

Harry stared before a smile formed. "That would be appreciated," he said sincerely. "Thank you."

Draco grinned. "Well, now that that's settled, we'll have to coach you up on Quidditch."

Harry vaguely remembered Draco mentioning the word back during the summer. "Quidditch?"

"Oh, Merlin," Blaise groaned. "You poor, uneducated soul."

"I think he'd be a good Seeker," Theo observed. "He's certainly got the build of one, that's for sure – you're already short and lightweight." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "A little too skinny, in my opinion. Are you already done with lunch?" he asked, trying to recall if the messy haired boy had eaten anything other than fruit.

Harry shifted slightly. "I'm not really hungry that much."

"You hardly ever eat enough for my liking," Draco sniffed dramatically.

Harry didn't look too concerned. "I eat plenty," he defended. "Just because I don't eat like a pig doesn't mean I'm not eating enough."

"Pig?!" Draco scowled indignantly.

Blaise and Theo snickered while Harry flipped through his Herbology book. He paused on a picture of a white lily.

"Isn't asphodel a type of lily?" he asked neutrally.

"Yes, I think so. Why?" Theo said, although he looked more interested in his spaghetti.

"No reason," he answered.

_Powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood, huh? Clever man. _

He flicked through a book he had borrowed from the library entitled, "Victorian Flower Language," pausing when he landed on asphodel and then again when he found wormwood. Asphodel, a type of lily, meaning 'my regrets follow you to the grave,' and wormwood, 'absence' and symbolizing bitter sorrow. Arranged correctly, it formed…

_"__I bitterly regret Lily's death."_

.*.

Harry stood over an old broom that had definitely seen better days. It was finally the highly anticipated flying lesson – and Harry could honestly care less. The whole thing seemed a bit pointless to him.

After the discovery of Harry's lack of knowledge when it came to Quidditch, his roommates had taken it upon themselves to educate him in the ways of the sport. Unfortunately, Harry had never been a fan of any sport of any kind, and the fact that it was a magical sport didn't seem to move him in the slightest.

Harry told the broom to go up along with the rest of the class, and unsurprisingly, his was one of the few that actually listened. Surprisingly, though, it turned out that Granger herself was having a bit of trouble with her own broom. It was mostly just turning over on the ground instead of shooting up in her hand like it was supposed to do.

"Alright, has everyone got their broom?" Madam Hooch asked. "On the count of three, then. One – two –"

Before she even got to three, Longbottom was lifting off the ground ungracefully. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated and Harry could already tell it was a disaster in the making.

Sure enough, seconds later the plump boy was hurtling towards the wall. He collided with a sharp thump and Madam Hooch was instantly at his side.

"Broken wrist," she confirmed after a moment of examining his arm. "Looks like we'll have to bring you up to the hospital wing, Longbottom." She cast a levitating spell to move him off the ground. "And the rest of you, if I catch you on those brooms before I come back, I'll have you expelled before you can say 'Quidditch!'" She gave them a warning look before disappearing into the castle.

The moment the two had left, Draco burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Draco snorted.

"Poor thing can't even count to three," Pansy simpered. Her comment sent more than a few of the Slytherins into laughter again.

"Shut up," snapped Parvati Patil from across from them.

"Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati," Pansy jeered. The other girl flushed angrily.

"Look at this!" Malfoy said, tossing a ball-like object up and down in his hand with glee. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

"Give it back!" cried Ron indignantly.

Draco grinned. "No, I think I'll leave it somewhere else – maybe up a tree?"

"You can't!" Granger protested as Draco moved to mount his broom. "Madam Hooch told us not to move!"

She was ignored as Draco swooped up into the air, Ron clumsily following him after a moment of hesitation.

"Give it here, Malfoy," Ron said in an attempt to look firm, although he refused to look down at the ground.

"Or what? You'll go and cry to your blood traitor mother?" he sneered. Harry sighed mentally. Draco was going to get himself in trouble with what he said one of these days. Grudgingly, he swept up into the air as well, momentarily relaxing as the breeze washed over his skin.

"Harry?" Draco asked in surprise at the same time Ron said, "Come to help your slimy friend, huh, Potter?" Harry went very still for a moment at the insult before his expression chilled.

"I thought I should inform you that Hooch should probably be back any moment now," he said stiffly, completely ignoring Weasley. Truthfully, he had gone up there to talk some sense into Draco, but now that Weasley turned out to be a complete idiot – well, he had no intention of helping a fool.

Before Draco could respond, Weasley lunged at him in an attempt to grab the Remembrall. Contrary to his plan, however, was him losing balance and tumbling off his broom at the same time.

Harry responded automatically, tilting his broom to the side and sweeping past Draco. He hurtled to the ground alarmingly fast, barely noticing Draco landing on the ground and the screams below him. Barely a foot below the ground, Harry crashed into Weasley and held on to him tightly, pulling his broom up and tumbling to the ground far more gently than seemed possible. He looked over Ron critically, looking for any wounds, but finding none. The boy was white with shock and still clutching the Remembrall in his hands.

"HARRY POTTER! RONALD WEASLEY!"

Snapping his head up, Harry saw Professors McGonagall and Snape storming to them.

"Oh, Merlin," Weasley whispered in horror.

Harry was inclined to agree.

"_Never_ in all my time have I seen something so foolish!" McGonagall ranted, pulling them off of the ground and patting them down.

"What, exactly, do you think you were doing in the air without supervision?" Snape interrupted his colleague coldly.

"I apologize, sir," Harry said immediately, rankling for a lie. "We thought it would be fine for just a minute, but Ron lost his balance." It wouldn't do to include Draco's part in the story – it would only lose Slytherin more points. Plus, Draco would now owe him one.

"But Professor –" Ron was attempting to speak to his Head of House.

"No excuses!" she said. "I'm sure your mother won't be pleased at all to hear what you've done, Ronald Weasley!"

Ron paled at the mention of his mother as he was dragged away. Harry was similarly being forced to follow Snape. Many of his classmates looked at him in unveiled pity.

However, instead of heading to Snape's office, they stopped at the Charms classroom. "Filius," Snape said silkily. "I need to borrow Flint for a moment."

"Of course, of course!" the cheerful Charms teacher said, ushering the hard-faced boy out of the room.

"Mr. Flint," Snape began, a gleam in his eye. "I do believe I have found you your Seeker."

Harry almost gaped in shock.

"Really?" the older boy asked, looking Harry up and down interestedly. "Potter as a Seeker?"

"I'm quite sure," Snape said. "I saw the boy drop from fifty feet in the air and catch one of the dunderhead Gryffindors before he splattered across the ground. There's not a scratch on him."

A predatory look entered Flint's eye. "Understood, sir," he said. He turned to Harry. "Potter, practice is every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday at five o'clock. Don't be late."

Flint was dismissed by Snape with a nod and Harry was left standing in place in utter shock.

"Well, Potter?" Snape raised his brows. "Shall we head to my office?" He barely had time to nod before he was rushing to keep up with his professor to his rooms.

Once they were there, Harry was ordered to sit down. "Sir, what if I don't _want_ to play Quidditch?" Harry immediately asked, his tone mildly distasteful at the mention of Quidditch.

Snape smirked at him. "Then I suppose I will have to take fifty points from Slytherin and assign a week's worth of detention for disobeying a direct order from your teacher," he said lightly. Harry barely contained a glare. The elder man knew there was no competition in what Harry would decide on.

"I see," Harry said at last. "However, I'm afraid I don't have a broom."

"I will order one for you," Snape said dismissively. "I will not allow such talent to bypass the Slytherin team. Slytherin has had a winning streak for years now – I plan to ensure that continues." When Harry stayed silent, Snape asked, "Was that your first time on a broom, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," he answered stonily.

Snape gave him an unreadable look. "…It was impressive, Potter," he finally admitted, looking rather pained. "But I can assure you, if you ever pull such a Gryffindorish stunt again, I will make sure you never set foot in this school again," he scowled, flipping back to his insulting personality.

Harry gave a quick nod before asking, "Is that all, sir?"

Snape hesitated, seemingly torn. "Mr. Potter," he said, then stopped. He composed himself again and continued. "Five points to Slytherin for stopping a foolhardy Gryffindor from meeting his untimely death." Harry was sure that had not been what the Potions Master had wanted to say, but found it best not to argue with the man.

He cracked a slight smile. "Yes, sir," he said, nodding slightly as he exited the room.

Severus Snape sat rigidly for a long few moments after Harry left, staring with narrowed eyes at the glimpses he had snatched out of the boy's mind. Nothing big, only the events from what had happened outside, but when he had been scanning his mind, he had noticed how indifferent Potter had felt at the thought of possible death – and it wasn't that the boy hadn't thought of it as he was rushing to the ground, no, it was how alarmingly peaceful he had felt at the thought of death when it had crossed his mind.

Unsettled, Snape quickly brushed it out of his thoughts, attempting to erase the uneasy feeling he had at Potter's emotions.

* * *

_Wow, thanks for the 60+ follows! And thanks a lot for everyone who reviewed, it made my day! (: Thanks a lot for your support, and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please review, I'd love to hear what you think! (:_


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